


this wound needs ice

by arekiras



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Juno's A+ Coping Skills, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-10-01 18:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arekiras/pseuds/arekiras
Summary: Prompt fills for my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card. Prompts will be in the chapter title, detailed warnings in the chapter summaries.Send me a request on tumblr @autisticjuno!





	1. Bounty on Their Head

Juno clutches at a stitch in his side, breathing heavily and trying to smother the heavy breathing in his other hand. Peter is much less worse for wear, though the ends of his hair had been slightly singed by a narrowly missed laser shot. He’s not too tired to glare daggers into the side of Juno’s face, since Juno has avoided looking at him for at least twenty blocks now. Juno examines the water stained ceiling of the safe house Peter had directed them to, rain leaking inside. The building is more hole than plaster, a dilapidated apartment complex set for demolition at the very edge of the Olympus Mons dome. 

Peter had simply pried up a loose board over one of the windows, holding it open for Juno to scramble through and followed near soundlessly behind. There’s a small stash of dried and powdered rations, the kind of garbage they give out in the most impoverished and war torn areas of the Outer Rim. There’s also a couple of insulated sleeping bags tucked into a hole in the wall and the telltale signs of life in the corners; an unbroken chair, a fresh bulb in the small construction lamp. 

“Nice place,” Juno wheezes, patting his jacket pockets down for his inhaler. Peter delves a hand into his jacket and hands the small pump over. 

“Used it last time I was here,” Peter says blandly as Juno gets his breath back. He gazes out into the dark rain streaked evening, the glow of the city reflecting in the Dome above eerily, giving everything a sickly electrical tinge. 

Olympus Mons is older than Hyperion City, the technology a little more worse for wear. A fine coat of black dust that made it through the filtration system coats everything, the city grimily industrial where Hyperion is streaked with clean neon lines. The wealthy say the age gives it character, everyone else petitions the local government for air that doesn’t make their children sick. 

Juno comes to Peter’s shoulder, peering past him into the unfamiliar night. “Think we lost ‘em?” he asks. 

“For now, perhaps. Want to tell me what that was?” Peter fixes Juno with a chilled gaze. 

Juno shrugs casually. “People are lined up around the block waiting for their chance to kill me. Not surprising one of them finally coughed up the cash for a hit man,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. Peter glares at him. Running for half an hour in the rain probably wasn’t the best for his good sense of humor. 

“Kanagawas, I’d guess. A formality, I meddled in their business,” Juno says. They _wanted_ him to, but that doesn’t matter. There’s a certain way these things are done. 

“That didn’t feel like a formality, Juno,” Peter sighs, running a hand through his slightly charred hair and grimacing. The only reason it isn’t a charred hole in Juno’s chest is because Peter’s reflexes are just a bit faster than a laser shot. 

Juno winces. “Sorry.” 

Peter’s expression softens. “Don’t be. I’m not upset with you. I just want this to be over,” he says, pressing a small kiss to Juno’s temple. “We should get away from the window.” It’s mostly covered in boards and the pouring rain isn’t great for visibility, but any exposure is too much. 

They settle in against the far wall, one sleeping back unzipped and thrown over their legs, passing a bottle of overly chlorinated water back and forth between themselves. Eventually, Peter’s comms chirps with an incoming call and Rita’s voice crackles over the secure line. “Mistah Steel? You alive?” she asks nervously. 

“Yeah, Rita, we’re fine,” Juno says. “What do you know?” 

“There’s good news and there’s bad news. Whatcha want first?” she asks. 

“Bad,” Peter says. 

“There are at least five assassins on ya tail, and they all have access to every camera in the city. And three of them are within a mile of ya location. Aaaaaaand they have their security locked up tight, it would take even me at least three days to get through all of it to help ya escape,” Rita reports, voice too cheerful for the news. 

“What’s the good news?” Juno asks. 

“They’re not after _you_, Mistah Steel! They’re after Mistah King. All five are ex-Dark Matters, seems like they took an issue with you pretending to be an agent and tricking them so badly.” 

“We’re being hunted like animals, and they’re not even out to kill me. That’s... refreshing,” Juno grumbles. 

Peter leans his head back against the wall. “I knew that alias would come back to get me,” he groans, “What do we do?” 

There’s fumbling, and then Buddy speaks. “Stay holed up as long as you can, but chances are good they’ll be on you soon and that there will be more of them. Jet and I will try to get to you before they do.” 

The line goes dead after that and Juno leans sideways, laying himself across Peter’s lap. “That’s comforting.” 

Peter snorts and turns his gaze to the rain again, ears straining for movement outside. “I’ll protect you.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.” 


	2. Concussion/Bedside Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of choking, injury, self sacrificing behavior, vomiting

Peter sits hunched in the too small chair, knees at angles and upper body bent almost all the way over to lean against Juno’s bedside, chest against Juno’s arm, fingers clasped gently around Juno’s wrist. The regular pulse beats against Peter’s thumb. He strokes the delicate skin against the inside of Juno’s wrist occasionally, mostly wanting to feel him, make sure that time is continuing to pass. 

Vespa comes and goes a couple of times, glares at him and shoves him out of her work space while she checks Juno’s bandages and IV drip, feels around his left leg to decide how well the bone sealant is working. She doesn’t tell him to leave, however, and he’s glad. He would hate to argue with her, but there’s no way he’s going anywhere. 

“You could at least brush your teeth or something,” she grumbles before leaving again. 

There’s some sense to that, so Peter departs, back cracking so much when he stands that his knees almost buckle. He brushes his teeth and even changes his clothes, avoiding himself in the mirror as much as possible. His face is bruised and sore, a large plaster over one cheek. The skin and cut itches beneath it, but he’s already bitten his nails too short to scratch at it. 

When he returns to the small infirmary with its three narrow beds, Juno has shifted, arm drawn up over his face and mouth pulled into a tight grimace. 

“Juno?” Peter whispers and Juno slowly lowers his arm. He peels open one eye and turns his head, groaning lowly as nausea takes him and sitting very still until the spinning stops and his stomach no longer lurches. 

He aches from the crown of his head to his toes, and wiggles in the tiniest of increments to ensure that he’s still all in tact. “What the hell happened?” he rasps, throat dry and aching. 

Peter sits back in the chair beside the bed, taking his hand softly. “You fell out of a window,” he says tightly. 

Juno frowns. “That doesn’t sound right.” His head throbs in time with his pulse. 

“You were _tackling_ someone out of a window. They took the brunt of the fall. You fractured your leg and cracked your skull open,” Peter elaborates. Juno opens his eye again at Peter’s dark tone. His vision is poor and it hurts to focus, but he examines Peter’s injured face and the hand shaped bruise around his neck. 

He recalls, rather fuzzily, the choking, terrible sound of ragged breath scraping up Peter’s throat past the hands clenched tightly around his neck. Crushing his face into the wall again and again. The impact of Juno’s body against theirs, crashing through the third floor window. The impact of their body on the ground and his immediately following. Hot pain up his leg and in his head, ringing and dizzy and then absolutely nothing. 

“That’s more like it,” Juno replies lowly. He shifts again and lets out a noise that is embarrassingly close to a whine. 

“You’re in pain,” Peter’s grip tightens on Juno’s hand. 

“Well, _yeah_,” Juno hisses. 

“I should get Vespa,” Peter says, making to get up again. Juno tries to sit up also, shaking his head. He regrets it immediately, barely having time to roll to the side before he’s sick into a conveniently placed bedpan. 

“Not yet. She’ll poke me and ask me questions. Just... stay a minute,” Juno whispers. Peter settles back down and rubs his back. 

“You were reckless today,” Peter says. “I was scared.” 

Juno glances at him through one slitted eye. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Peter sighs. “We can talk about it later.” 

Juno grunts out an agreeing sound, but closes his eye again and sinks into the feeling of Peter’s hand on his back. 


End file.
